Under Other Covers
by OzGeek
Summary: Tony and McGee go undercover in more ways than one. Not slash. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

"It's pretentious, like that book title: 'Cedar falling on Snowflakes'," Tony said, keeping his eyes glued to the road.

"That's 'Snowflakes Falling on Cedar', Tony," McGee corrected him from the passenger seat.

"Really?" Tony seemed genuinely surprised. "I like it better my way: cedar, snowflake, neeeeaowwww, splat!"

McGee winced. "It's the moving story of a young….". Then he paused and sighed. "Oh, who am I kidding? It's the literary equivalent of a chick flick."

Tony laughed victoriously, eliciting the faintest of smiles. "We'll make a man out of you yet, Probie!"

They pulled up outside a shiny metal warehouse baking in the sun. The walls formed a fairly efficient solar reflector, complementing the harsh white cement road. Tony killed the engine and observed the scorched building from the sanctuary of the air-conditioned car, squinting against the glare.

"How many warehouses do you reckon we've been through, all together?"

McGee did not hesitate. "Since I've been with you guys, I make this number fifteen."

Tony regarded him levelly. "I don't know which is more worrying: the fact that you know or the fact that I knew you'd know."

"If you don't want to know," said McGee opening the car door reluctantly, "don't ask."

The solid wall of heat hit them full force as they left the car's comfortable cocoon. Tony popped the trunk and together they baulked at the black NCIS jackets lying there: black jackets in 100 degree temperatures, not going to happen. Tony slammed the trunk shut. They fell into step as they approached the warehouse door.

"There's only one thing I hate more than searching warehouses," McGee remarked as they stood either side of the doorway.

"What?"

Tony kicked and the door flung open with one mighty stamp of his foot. The smell of partially roasted Naval personal wafted towards them.

"That," said McGee.

McGee turned his head and gagged a little. No amount of Vicks under his nose was going to stop that power train. He'd have to stuff the actual jars up his nostrils to have any chance at all. He glanced at Tony to see how much flack he was going to catch but Tony was sporting his own sour expression.

"Turn on the lights, Probie."

"You turn them on."

"I'm the senior field agent."

"I have the more highly developed gag reflex."

Tony eyed him for a moment, then stepped in and flicked on the light. The rotting corpse materialised before them, still in full military uniform.

* * *

The yellow plastic tape melted to the searing metal walls as they cordoned off the building exterior, but neither doubted the outside work was the fun part.

Photographing and sketching the festering remains of the human body in oppressive heat was never going to be high on McGee's list of things to do. The putrid smell had impregnated their clothing, and he doubted he would ever wear the outfit again without people sniffing suspiciously at him. Every now and again it would become too much for one of them and they would race outside for a gulp of thick, steamy air and a sip of hot saliva-slimy water.

Tony looked up as he heard Gibb's car finally pull up outside. A second engine told him that Ducky and Palmer had probably followed in convoy. He bounced up from where he was squatting, wordlessly encouraging McGee to do the same. Tony watched as McGee struggled slowly to his feet and swayed precariously, his face deathly pale. Grasping McGee's sweat soaked shoulders to stabilize him, he was surprised by the amount of strength required to achieve his aim.

"OK?"

"Yeah," said McGee faintly.

McGee closed his eyes for a moment to rein in the sensation of movement. His head seemed to be fizzing. He had an almost irresistible urge to lie down on the floor, regardless of the rapidly decomposing potential bedfellow.

"I think I just got up too fast," he mumbled.

"Let's get you somewhere cool," Tony suggested, wrapping an arm around McGee's shoulders and leading him out.

* * *

"Ahhh," Ziva sighed, happily stretching her arms out widely. "Finally, it's nice and toasty."

Stunned, Gibbs turned to glare at her.

"What?" she asked innocently, "It's just like home."

"Remind me never to visit your house," Gibbs remarked. "Where are those two?"

"A little help Boss," called Tony.

Gibbs came to an abrupt halt as he laid eyes on the two agents. McGee whiter than Abby made up to celebrate International Mime's Day, and Tony, with the genetic advantage of slightly more melanin, looking latte coloured, but still dangerously pale.

"Back of Ducky's van, both of you," he instructed, darting back to open the rear doors of the vehicle, "he's left the air running."

McGee had the vague sensation he was floating. Nothing was making sense at the moment but at least he wasn't hot anymore. Instead, shards of cold were shooting down his body. He felt crappy. He had a national best selling novel under his belt, he was a living, breathing thesaurus and the only word he could conceive to describe how he felt was 'crappy'.

He felt hands over his body hoisting him into the cool oasis. He lay panting on his back on the hard metallic floor, his core temperature plummeting. Bottles of water arrived. Cold, cold bottles drenched in condensation. Nothing had ever tasted so good. Tony, sitting beside him in the van, looked down with a huge grin. He took a final swig from his bottle and tipped the residual water over McGee's face with a laugh. McGee responded with an exhausted smile. When he could move again, Tony was in trouble.

It was half an hour before Gibbs opened the door from the blast furnace. Tony and McGee looked up at him suddenly like two guilty school boys. The interior of the van looked a lot wetter than when it started its day. Ducky was not going to be pleased.

"While you two were cooling off in here," Gibbs' eyes roamed the interior of the van incredulously as he dug out a notebook from his top pocket, "Ziva has been interviewing the partner of our dead sailor."

"Looks like our missing marine and his partner were scheduled to attend a 'couples workshop' starting tonight and running all through tomorrow," Gibbs read.

"And at that event," Ziva took up the story from her position outside the van soaking up the heat, "our navy officer was due to deliver sensitive naval information, to person or person's unknown."

"Is his partner in on it?" Tony asked.

"Not as far as we can tell but we are holding him just in case," said Ziva.

"The Navy is interested in the recipients of this information," Gibbs started.

Tony's eye's lit up. "Undercover boss?"

Watching the action from his ring side seat, McGee rolled his eyes. More surveillance of Tony and Ziva going at it hammer and tongs in bed, he did not want to sit through.

Gibbs smiled slyly. "Yes Tony: undercover."

Tony grinned at Ziva, who stared back blankly.

"Don't look at me," she said.

Tony turned questioningly to Gibbs, "Boss?"

"It's a same-sex event, Tony. You're taking McGee."

McGee's eyes opened wide mirroring Tony's horrified expression.

"You're kidding, right?" Tony pleaded.


	2. Panic Stations

"But surely you've done under cover work before?" Ziva asked.

McGee interrupted his hyperventilation to look up from his paper bag.

"Sure," he gasped: "I wore a Hawaiian shirt once and I've had dark glasses on. Oh and there was that time I dressed as a waiter. I can see how that would logically extend to me playing Tony's lover at a gay workshop."

He returned to his bag breathing mournfully as Ziva consulted her computer screen.

"Well I don't think it's as bad as you think it is," she said. "According to their website, it's just one night: a party, music, finger food – a get together. Then some sessions the following day – lectures, workshops, that sort of thing."

McGee perked up a bit. "So they won't expect us to touch to each other?" he asked hopefully.

Ziva smiled consolingly, "not even a little."

Tony caught the last of Ziva's conversation as he walked into the bullpen. "Tell me more – no anything…"

Ziva's tone hardened. "Of course you might be under surveillance when you are, say, in the bedroom. So you'll want to make it as realistic as possible, my little hairy butt."

McGee, who had almost returned to his normal color, whimpered and picked up his bag again. Tony patted him on the back, "she's just messing with you Probie," he assured him.

Ziva smiled smugly at Tony. "The victim's partner says they were very close physically. It might look out of character if you were to stay apart."

"We'll play it by ear, thanks."

"You don't want to loose an important lead because you are a poor undercover operative."

"Hey, I'm a great.."

"What about clothes?" McGee interrupted.

"It's not a nudist event," Ziva assured him.

McGee stared at her, aghast. He hadn't even entertained that possibility. Now he couldn't get it out of his head. No matter how hard he tried.

"Ah, no," he mumbled distractedly trying to eliminate the image of prancing naked males, "I mean: what clothes should I wear?"

"Your normal clothes," said Ziva simply.

He paused. "You're saying I dress gay?"

"No," she suppressed a smile, "I mean they wear normal clothing, just like you."

McGee narrowed his eyes at her unconvinced.

"McGee," called Gibbs rounding the corner into the bullpen, "you familiar with under cover procedures?"

"Um, ah, I, ah, took the course boss," he stammered.

Gibbs looked up at Tony with a wry smile. "The course," he repeated. He rubbed one hand across his forehead wearily as Tony and McGee approached his desk. "OK McGee, you will be acting as either one: Lieutenant Michael Flanagan aka 'Mickey', or two: Tommy Jones."

"Tommy Lee Jones?" Tony squealed excitedly. "Tommy Lee Jones, Harrison Ford: The Fugitive!"

"There's no 'Lee'," Gibbs sighed trying to dampen Tony's enthusiasm. "It's just plain Tom Jones." He winced at his unforced error.

"Tom Jones!" Tony grabbed a pen from Gibbs' desk and began to sing in his best Tom Jones impersonation: "It's not unusual to be loved by anyone," ending face to face with Ziva.

"You really want to be 'Special Agent Tommy'?" She warned.

Tony grimaced as he made the connection, McGee had completely written off that name for him.

"Besides," Ziva continued, "it sounds exactly like your Elvis impersonation."

"Bite your tongue," said Tony indignantly.

"It's better than his Tommy Lee Jones impersonation," McGee noted.

"Hey!"

"Ok," Gibbs cut in. "Tony you're Tommy, McGee: Mickey."

"Hey, that rhymes!"

"Probably just as well," Gibbs muttered, gives you a chance when you get it wrong.


	3. Getting to know you

McGee looked down at his name tag and read the text upside down: "Hi, I'm Mickey, my partner is Tommy." His earwig was starting to irritate his ear canal and the back of the little microphone clipped to his T-shirt was scratching his chest. The music, although currently comfortingly mellow was threatening to explode in volume any moment.

He was trying not to stand too close to Tony but, simultaneously, trying to avoid standing too close to anyone else. He found himself oscillating between Tony and a rather handsome blonde man who he was sure his sister would tag as 'a no go zone'. The man smiled at him.

"You seem a little nervous," he observed.

Tony turned at the sound of conversation. "First time," he confided in a low voice placing his arm across McGee's shoulders.

McGee felt every muscle in his back and neck tense to the consistency of steel. Tony must have put his arm in this position a hundred times since they had met and it had never bothered him before. Now it took all his strength of will not to elbow him where it would do the most damage.

"What do you use on your skin?" The blonde man reached out his hand and stroked McGee's frozen face.

"Femme Glow," Tony whispered. "Does wonders for dry skin."

"The stuff with the little sparkles?"

"Uh ha."

The guy considered McGee's thoughtfully. "I think he'd look good in stubble."

"Oh, he did," Tony agreed smoothly, "felt just like a little bunny."

McGee's desperate eyes swivelled slowly from their new acquaintance to Tony, begging him to end the conversation.

"C'mon, Probie," said Tony jovially, giving him a friendly shake with the arm he steadfastly refused to remove from his shoulders, "lighten up."

The blonde guy's eyes lit up. "How did you get the nick name Probe-y?"

"Ahhhh," Tony reminisced with a smile, "he was young and inexperienced."

"Don't worry," the guy reassured McGee, "the first few times, we could all earn the nick name Probe-y."

McGee stared at him in horror swallowing hard.

"What do you call him now?"

Tony's grin widened: "Probablicious!"

McGee's head snapped back to Tony as the laughter exploded in his earwig. Ziva and Gibbs were enjoying this. At least they couldn't see Tony licking his lips invitingly. Suddenly, the nightmare was too much. "I've got to get some fresh air," he muttered urgently, pushing his way past Tony and heading for a small balcony.

* * *

Tony appeared at the door a few moments later to find McGee sitting hunched at a small table and chair setting, breathing heavily. His earwig and microphone lay abandoned on the table.

McGee raised his head with a look of utter despair. "I can't do this, Tony."

Tony carefully picked out his own earwig, unclipped his microphone and laid them on the table next to McGee's. He dropped into an adjoining chair.

"Yes you can…"

"Why do people always say that? How do they know? Sometimes there are things that can't be done."

"You think this comes naturally to me?" Tony countered.

"You're an ex-cop, I'm a computer geek; you figure it out." He looked away pointedly, staring into the night sky.

Tony gave him a moment to get over the worst of it and then started laconically: "so the red star in Orion, that's Rigel, right?"

"Betelgeuse," McGee corrected automatically without moving. "Rigel is blue. The one starting with 'R' is blue; the one starting with 'B' is red. Don't ask me why. It just is."

Tony paused to judge the effect his little science conversation was having and decided it needed a booster shot. "But it's the red ones that do the big bangy thing, right?"

McGee looked across at him, insecurities forgotten. "Supernovae, you mean? Well, that used to be the theory until supernova 1987a went off and for the first time they could identify the progenitor. Turned out to be a blue…."

He stopped as he noticed Tony's grin.

"Ahh, the magic of science," Tony reflected.

McGee lowered his eyes in mixture of amusement and embarrassment. There was a lot more to Tony than people gave him credit for. "You do realise Orion isn't even up?"

Tony frowned. "I thought it was a summer night constellation."

"It is – in Australia."

They shared an almost silent snort of laughter. Then Tony turned to McGee. "Seriously, Probie, you're undercover here. These people are all potential suspects."

McGee stared at the ground, considering what Tony was saying. It was true. He hadn't done his job tonight. He looked up to see Tony watching him carefully.

"It's not easy," he began.

"Sure it is!" Tony encouraged. "The trick is not to lie but to tell the truth in a misleading way. Didn't you notice what I was doing, Probe-y?"

McGee shook his head at the memory. "You're right," he admitted apologetically, "it's just a bit hard."

"That's the spirit, Probie!" Tony congratulated him.

McGee closed his eyes and absorbed the fall out from the double entendre. He had a feeling he was going to be enduring a lot of those tonight. Tony was reinserting his earwig and reattaching his microphone.

"C'mon," Tony invited, "the dance music's started."

McGee sighed, shook his head, gathered his equipment and followed him back inside.


	4. A testing time

McGee's eyes roamed around the dimly lit room looking for somewhere quiet to practise his interview technique. The thumping music made it almost impossible to think, let alone interrogate. His gaze came to rest on a small man sitting morosely at the bar. Steeling himself, he approached with all the confidence he could muster rehearsing the name 'Mickey' over and over in his head. The man turned at his foot falls and McGee watched his initially joyous expression fade to disappointment.

"Ah, hi," McGee started uncertainly.

The other man gave him a brief smile. "You been stood up too?"

"Ah, no," McGee stammered slightly. "Just needed a break."

"Me too."

McGee took his cue and climbed onto the adjacent stool.

"I found John kissing another guy," said the man. "You ever see …." he squinted to read the name tag, "Tommy, kissing another guy?"

A picture of Tony kissing a cross-dressed sailor leaped into McGee's mind. "Why, ah, yes. Yes, I have."

"Did he know you were watching?"

"Ah, yes, I ah, think so."

"Was he better looking than you?"

McGee considered: "Hard to say, really. He was dressed as a woman."

The other man's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Wow! Still it's better than being dumped because you have to work late."

McGee laced his fingers on the bar in front of him. "I was dumped for working on Halloween by an Ice Queen."

"They're all Ice Queens," the other man sympathised.

McGee smiled. Maybe he was better at this than he thought.

"Red," the man introduced himself extending his hand.

"Mickey," McGee replied, taking it.

"Is this your first time here?"

"Yeah," McGee replied. "You've been here before?"

"Yeah, I come occasionally. Tonight I was going to meet someone."

There was a pause as they both looked off into the middle distance. "We used to watch the sunrise together…" Red reminisced.

"We've done that!" McGee wisely declined to mention the open grave.

"He leant me his shirt," Red began.

"After mine got covered in blood…" McGee finished. Red was looking at him strangely. "It's a long story."

Red hoisted himself off the chair with a resigned sigh. He looked McGee square in the face. "I am going to try again," he resolved and marched back to the dance floor.

"Me too."

* * *

The two agents trudged wearily up the stairs to their room lugging backpacks and picking surveillance equipment out of orifices and clothing as they went. The night had not been productive leading to the inevitable conclusion that they were going to have to spend the night: together.

As expected the room was a fine example of NCIS travel budget in action: sparsely furnished with just a double bed, a rickety TV and a small writing desk in the corner.

Tony's eyes scanned the walls and ceiling. "I'm really sweaty after all that dancing. I think I'll have a shower." He headed for the bathroom door. Reaching it, he turned back to McGee and raised an eyebrow enticingly. "Care to join me?"

"Tony," McGee growled.

"Tommy," Tony scowled, "and I'll thank you not to mention his name in my presence. I really think you need a shower too, Mickey. "

McGee rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth to retort then stopped short, reading the message in Tony's expression. "Sure."

They crowded into the tiny bathroom and Tony forced the ill-fitting door closed. He turned the sign to 'Engaged' wondering incredulously how many stars this place was rated.

Tony started the shower. "Did you see it?" he whispered urgently.

"What?"

"The camera facing the bed."

"What! Who'd do that?"

"I don't freaking know, they didn't leave a calling card."

McGee collapsed onto the toilet seat. "This is not good, Tony."

"I know, and it's Tommy."

"It's a nightmare."

"Look, I'm don't like this anymore than you McGeek but someone is watching us up there and they're checking out our story."

McGee paused. "What do we do?"

"What we have to, Probie." He pulled his shirt over his head. "Get your gear off and get wet, we don't want to arouse anyone's suspicions."

"I don't want to arouse anyone's anything," McGee lamented unbuttoning his shirt.


	5. A night to remember

The two slightly damp agents stood staring at each other in the tiny bathroom dressed only in matching towels. With a resigned sigh, Tony moved to turn off the water.

"No wait!" McGee's brain was kicking in. "They probably have audio on us but if they are using night vision then there are only two possibilities: light amplification or infrared."

"So?"

"So if it's light amplification it's affected by humidity. If it's infrared then it's thermally sensitive and has the added bonus of poorer spatial resolution. The blanket is both an optical and thermal insulator."

"Is this leading somewhere or has some geek bomb just gone off inside your head?"

McGee shot Tony a dirty look as he leaned into the shower, cranked up the hot water and turned off the cold.

"If we steam up the bedroom and stay under the blanket they can't see details – we've almost blinded them. All we have to worry about getting the noises right." He flung the bathroom door wide open and steam billowed into the room.

Tony grabbed him by both shoulders, his face beaming. "I think I love you!" He paused, shocked. "That does not leave this room."

McGee winced sympathetically, tilting his head slightly towards where he knew the microphone would be. "I think it already has."

"Dammit."

--

When the hot water ran out, they emerged from the bathroom into the steaming tropics of their room.

"Hit the light," said Tony urgently. The room plunged into darkness transforming it into more of a dark tropical hideaway. "By the way, Mickey," Tony said very clearly, "here at the retreat, we sleep, o' natural."

"Can it Tommy," McGee warned.

Tony smirked; the sport of freaking McGee out would more than compensate for his own reservations about this assignment. He slid under the covers leaving his towel in a crumpled pile at the side of the bed. "Come to bed," he crooned.

"I'm just getting something to wear," said McGee rustling through a bag in the dark. He found something. He wasn't even sure if it was his or Tony's but it covered the important bits. He steeled himself and slid into bed next to Tony pulling the covers up around his chin.

As usually found in establishments of such quality, the mattress was nicely concave, forcing the occupants into a single groove in the center of the bed. McGee found himself sliding towards Tony and he spun to one side, grappling desperately for the edge.

Tony sidled up from behind, spooning him. "It's time to take one for the team Mickey," he whispered

McGee's mind tried to disassociate itself from his body as he felt Tony wind an arm around his chest. At least he would have an answer now when Abby asked if he had ever had an out-of-body experience. His fingers punctured the side of the mattress.

"Loosen up Mickey," Tony whispered in his ear, "Anyone would think that you don't like doing this with me."

McGee closed his eyes tightly for a moment. Tony's point was well taken but now that he came to think about it, he didn't even know what he was supposed to do. His mind had only one paradigm: boy on top, girl underneath. At a stretch, if things were a little risqué: girl on top, boy underneath. Granted his time spent with Abby had been a little more 'hinky' but when he thought of this act, there was one default picture that came to his mind. This was not it.

"I can take you just like this," Tony suggested as if reading his mind.

McGee swallowed hard. "OK," he whispered. He felt Tony sliding slowly up and down his back and he was thankful he had taken the time to put on some clothing: the physical barrier between them shielded him from the creepy sensation of Tony's hairy humidity-sweaty body, rasping up and down his own. That said, the shared warmth and the motion were starting to freak him out.

"Do it with me now," he heard Tony whisper in his ear.

Before McGee had time to ponder what that could possibly mean, he heard Tony go into his 'When Harry met Sally' routine; groaning and panting as though reaching climax. This was one adventure that was definitely not making it to the pages of his next book. He was able to get the rhythmical panting going but no matter how hard he tried, he could not squeeze out any noises. There was something caught in his throat. His throat! A horrendous image of what Tony could have shoved down his throat hit him and he gagged. Fortunately, twinned with the Tony's finale the sound made for a fairly convincing duet.

Tony peeled himself off McGee back. "That was unforgettable," he panted, almost managing to suppress the sarcasm.

"Oh yeah."

Tony rolled over and started some deep breathing. McGee guessed he was trying to feign sleep for the camera. A good plan he might try it himself.

Half and hour later, he was still awake, his fingers cramping from gripping the side of the mattress for so long. One ear was throbbing but he did not dare turn over. His body screamed for sleep but every time it attempted to claim victory he would feel the roll towards the center of the bed, start awake and renew his grasp.

Tony was against his back, all hot and sweaty; breathing long and deep. Stifling a shudder, he pulled himself so high up the side of the bed he nearly fell out. One leg jerked and he knew his body was trying to force him to sleep, conquering one limb at a time. His felt his body roll again and noted vaguely how deep and steady his breathing had become.

* * *

Somewhere in a surveillance room, Sacks' smirk widened to a full grin as he watched the last of the NCIS agents succumb to sleep. At first he had been very annoyed to discover that six months worth of surveillance had been sabotaged by NCIS. A quick call to Gibb's cell had confirmed his suspicions: someone had taken out his target of interest a day before the exchange was due to take place and no one had told him. He and Gibbs had come to an agreement: he would brief NCIS and in return they would complete the deal.

"Can I have a copy of that?" Ziva asked, watching the monitor over his shoulder.

"My pleasure."


	6. The morning after

Tony smiled. There was something about waking up with someone lying hard up against you, hand tangled in your chest hair and head nestled in the hollow under your collar bone that he found intensely pleasurable. He frowned. Something was a little odd. Was it the snore? No, he'd had women like that. Was it the morning stubble rasping against his naked body? No, some women from the 'old country' had that problem. Was it the shear size of the person next to him? No, that wasn't it; he'd dated Amazon-types before.

A feeling of absolute horror crept over his being as realisation hit. Yes there it was: that thing pressed against his leg. That wasn't meant to be there. His eyes flew open and he met a face full of McGee's hair. He fought the urge to push him off, race to the shower and scour his entire body raw with industrial grade sandpaper.

Gritting his teeth, he gently unhooked McGee's fingers from his chest and gingerly slid his heavy head onto the adjacent pillow where it landed with a hearty thump. Tony had never really studied McGee asleep without a tube of superglue in his hand. In the early morning light he looked almost human: eyes flitting about under his lids, peaceful low rumbling snore.

Acutely aware of the camera lens, Tony air kissed just above McGee's head and slithered unobtrusively from under him. He deliberately turned his back on the camera and sauntered naked to the bathroom wondering what rating his resident voyeur was giving his butt.

* * *

McGee's subconscious was busy flushing his arousal center and resetting the entire system. After a round of horrific Tony related nightmares, he spent an enjoyable time reliving every intimate moment he had ever spent with Abby: secret kisses, hugs, little cuddles they had shared. When the Abby memory supply was exhausted, he went through some little Ziva moments: a kiss full on the lips for his birthday (even though it wasn't), her laying on top of him in OTTO, holding her in his arms in a darkened garage. Next his short-term experiences: Ruby's smile, Erin's face, Agent Larsen and that night. An unbidden image of the director with freakishly large breasts roared through his mind and he gasped awake. "What was that?" He thought aloud, the image still fading before him.

"Morning Mickey," he spun to see Tony standing at the foot of the bed dressed only in a towel.

"Ahh, um hi ahh Ton….-my," McGee stumbled, still slightly reeling from the director's image his subconscious had chosen to dish up.

"Time to get up, we've got a lot to learn today."

* * *

As they walked down the corridor from their room, the two agents inserted their earwigs and accompanying electronics.

"Radio Tommy on the air," Tony whispered.

"…And Abby thinks she can enhance the picture?" Gibbs voice was very earnest.

"Yes. Oh…look I think he's throwing up….," Ziva's voice cut in.

"Boss?" Tony and McGee exchanged confused glances.

"DiNozzo!" Gibb's voice was just a little too jovial for this time of the morning.

"Ah Boss, we're heading down for breakfast and a nice round of lectures on how to make our relationship better," said Tony uncertainly.

"We've had some intelligence that your contact will be expecting the information on a USB flash drive. We're going to have to get one of those to you," Gibbs warned, some seriousness leaking through.

"I have two in my pocket," McGee offered.

Tony looked at him incredulously. "Of course you do, Probie."

"Be on your toes, you steamy lovebirds," Gibbs signed out.

Tony frowned and continued down the corridor. Suddenly he realised McGee was no longer by his side but was instead frozen to the spot, a look of absolute horror plastered on his face.

"Probie?"

McGee turned to him with dread in his eyes covering his microphone with his hand. "You don't think they saw….last night…do you?"

Tony retraced his steps to whack McGee on the back of the head. "Don't even think it."

* * *

The two agents sat finishing their lunch at one of the many intimate two seat tables set up for the course.

"Been picked up yet?" Tony asked.

"What! No."

"Ha!" Tony scoffed. "Even in a gay place you can't get picked up."

McGee scowled. "Did you find out anything?"

"I got a really good chicken curry recipe."

"Anything useful?"

"Nope. Nothing, nada, zippo. Maybe we're at the wrong place."

"No you're not," Gibbs assured them from the ether.

A warning bell sounded through the loud speakers.

"Ten minutes, Probie," Tony reminded him, "and then we get to assert our feeling for each other all over again."

"I'll meet you in there. I've got to, ah, visit the little boys room."

Tony closed his eyes in horror. He was going to have to teach McGeek some more manly euphuisms when this was over.

* * *

So intent was McGee on his mission that he entirely missed the bathroom door opening immediately after he entered and the three burley men entering stealthily behind him.


	7. The best laid plans

One moment McGee was walking into the bathroom, the next his face was pressed hard against the urinal wall and someone was frisking him. He desperately tried to keep his mouth from touching the wall assuring himself no one ever aimed that high. Unfortunately, his memory kept replaying an image of Tony writing his name in a public toilet underlining just how high he dotted that "I" in DiNozzo.

"It's him, boss."

An enormous hand spun him 180 degrees and he found himself looking into an equally enormous face. Two USB keys dangled just inside his peripheral vision.

"Lieutenant Michael Flanagan: navy snitch? You're supposed to be dead," the man informed him.

"Ah, sorry," he apologised sincerely, hoping it was the right thing to do.

"Easily rectified." He pulled out possibly the largest handgun McGee had ever set eyes on and pressed its cold metal tip against his forehead. "Unless there is another miraculous resurrection, your contact won't be able to make it tonight."

McGee squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard. He knew Gibbs and Ziva had heard the conversation and they would have relayed it to Tony; all he needed to do was stall for time. He opened his mouth, willing his brain to come up with the goods.

Suddenly there was a gunshot next to his ear and his heart relocated to his throat. Slowly, he realised he was still standing and the gun was now extended at the end of an arm. The door of the men's room was swinging gently like a saloon door, a bullet lodged near the handle.

"That'll scare it out of him," one of the minder's quipped.

Inside McGee was celebrating: he had just gained a few precious extra seconds. The now searing hot gun returned to his forehead and his skin sizzled as it received its new brand. At least Abby would have a nice forensic shape to match to the gun. Assuming, of course, his head was still intact. The smell of cooking flesh filled the room and he was disturbed to find he was salivating.

"Now where were we?" McGee stood perfectly still, eyes open wide, transfixed by the weapon at his head. His breathing, once panicky, diminished to almost nothing.

Then the gun disappeared. A split second later, the sound of a single gunshot reverberated around the bathroom. McGee turned slowly to see Tony with his gun levelled. It took a second for the adrenaline to kick in, then he dived for the dislodged gun and brought it up between the two sidekicks. Tony stalked around the bathroom towards him, his sig tracking the leader of the pack.

The door crashed open and Gibbs and Ziva stormed in with guns waving wildly. Assessing the situation, Gibbs holstered his weapon. "Not bad, DiNozzo," he said laconically, drawing out his handcuffs.

"You took your time," Tony admonished.

"There's a huge crowd of people out there," said Ziva.

"Gunshots in a men's room will do that," said Sacks from the doorway. "I think these might be mine."

A swarm of FBI agents swept through the tiny bathroom like a plague, gathering all felons in their path and hustling them out the door.

When they had left, Tony turned his attention to Sacks. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Saving your hairy, swaggering butt."

Tony stood stunned. A grin spread across Sacks' face but it was Ziva who cracked first. "Oh, it was fantastic. Tony, McGee: you are going to be the new stars of YouTube."

"That's not legal with your warrant," Tony warned.

"No but my copy has been destroyed. Unfortunately, an illegal copy was made and that has disappeared…"

Tony turned accusingly to McGee. "What about that stuff about the steam and the blinding?"

McGee's jaw wobbled up and down a bit but no words came out.

"Oh, don't blame McGee," said Ziva lightly. "The picture was horrible but we gave it to Abby and she assures us she can bring out your inner beauty."

Tony smiled suddenly but before he could speak Gibbs' cell went off. "Abbs?"

The tirade from the cell echoed around the tiny bathroom with Gibbs trying to stem the flow with the occasional "Abs…Abby…listen….I….Abby."

"Here Boss," Tony offered taking the cell. Walking casually across the bathroom, Tony placed the phone gently to his ear. He took a deep breath and yelled: "Abs! It's OK, he's safe. He's with me." The noise ceased. Tony smiled smugly and continued: "I think we both know what you have to do."

There was more rapid fire yelling from Abby before Tony spoke again. "Well, if you do that, I might just have to mail you his ear." He smiled mischievously at McGee who was looking thoroughly confused. "Then his little nose," Tony continued. McGee's expression morphed seemlessly from confused to downright worried.

As Abby's talking reached fever pitch, Tony's voice hardened: "Then I will just have to send you his little farting tummy." McGee's eyebrows shot up as Abby's voice faded. Tony smiled victoriously. "Then we have an understanding? Good." He flipped the phone shut and tossed it to Gibbs.

"You kidnapped Bert?" there was grudging admiration in Gibbs' voice.

"Well I figured someone was going to try and take compromising photos and when they did, they were going to have to get Abby's help at some point down the line. So I took out some insurance."

"She destroyed the footage?"

Tony smiled sweetly: "Oh yeah." He turned his serene gaze to Ziva. "That's game, set and match."

Ziva huffed and turned on her heels to leave.

"C'mon you two," said Gibbs following, her out.

Tony turned to McGee as they reached the bathroom door. "Hey, can I finish off that tic-tac-toe game on your head?"

"Very funny."

Tony grinned and prodded the blistered circle with his index finger.

The sudden stab of pain in his forehead sparked off a chain reaction in McGee's mind causing him to enact what he had expected to be the final scene of his life. An icy shower washed down his body, the world spun, his knees buckled and he plummeted to the floor. Dazed and disoriented he heard Tony mutter: "Must have been the 'off' button."

Tony wormed one arm under his legs, the other under his armpits and heaved to a stand. McGee's heavy head hung awkwardly and he felt Tony pause, brace and then roll one shoulder inward shifting his head to rest against Tony's warm chest. "I've got you," the quiet voice said in his ear.

As they ploughed through the last of the dispersing crowd, McGee was vaguely aware the men parting before them had started singing a song of some kind. He wished Tony could tell him what it was. Then he realised he knew it: the theme from 'An Officer and a Gentleman'.

------------------------------------------END-------------------------------------------------------


End file.
